Recently in Awful People Category

By now, most people lurking throughout the blogosphere have seen the before & after pics of Heidi Montag's new face and body, and if you're like me, you thought the surgery didn't look soooo bad (except for that soul-draining effect it has on her eyes and persona). However, I knew I'd have to reserve final judgment until I saw Heidi's new face in motion -- far away from the beneficial aids of photoshop and airbrushing.

Well, the young starlet's face made its on-camera debut on Good Morning America today, and as feared, Heidi looked truly scary and plastic. She seemed totally devoid of any of human qualities, and what's saddest is that her face didn't look drastically different -- but just enough to destroy any semblance of charm or personality.

Of course, once you get over Heidi's new face, you then have to listen to her talk, and the answers to some of reporter Juju Chang's questions truly walk the line between hilarious and depressing. I think Heidi's insistence that she wants to send a message about "inner-beauty" is most puzzling of all. However, my favorite exchange is this:

Classic, terrible stuff. To see the whole interview, click the video above.

This week, oft surgically enhanced reality star Heidi Montag revealed that she's completely addicted to plastic surgery, going so far as to get ten different procedures in one day late last year. The pictures are shocking to many, as the new, soulless creature staring back at us seems hardly like the Heidi we know and love. It's jarring, yes, but I cannot fault Heidi for going through with the alterations. That's because I know her pain all too well. Much like Ms. Montag, I too am highly addicted to plastic surgery, and recently I went under the knife for some touch-ups as well. The results might be surprising to you, but I couldn't be happier. At long last, I feel like I'm almost perfect, and maybe with a few more nips and tucks over the next five or thirty years, I can finally achieve that body I've always craved. It feels good; nay, it feels American.

Pictures of my transformation (swan alert!!) after the jump...

The 1800s had Lincoln-Douglas. The 1900s had Kennedy-Nixon. And now the 2000s already have a contender for the century's most influential and noteworthy debate: Gosselin-Grace (-Nash-Osmand-Frankel-some-other-dude). Yes, in a strange bit of tabloid-milking, The Insider decided to pit Jon Gosselin against a panel of D-List celebrities who would hopefully break him down and realize the error of his ways. Those luminaries included Donny Osmond, Niecy Nash, some guy, Bethenny Frankel, and the one and only Nancy Grace, who tore into Jonny Goss with the sort of ferocity normally exhibited by a rabid wolverine. Why these guests were chosen is still beyond me, and what Lara Spencer et. al. were trying to achieve (aside from ratings) remains a mystery.

Suffice it to say, even if you don't care about the Gosselin saga, this is still highly entertaining stuff. Credit goes to "Kate Gosselin 4-Eva" fanclub founder Andy Dehnart for posting these clips of the showdown. The first is above. Two more — including one with a hilarious Nancy Grace ending — after the jump.

The Los Angeles crew lost a vital member of its community today. And by vital, I mean "stocky, even-keeled, and generally assholish." Yes, I'm talking about the beloved IndianJones, who is currently driving northward to the icy climes of San Francisco where he has taken a job with Internet giant Yahoo! (exclamation theirs, not mine). These will be trying times for our group (formerly called the Lametourage until very recently when we decided that The VC, or Vicious Circle, best describes our badinage and dynamic). Point is, without IndianJones, we lose that certain je ne sais quoi (ironic since he hates the French). Who's gonna be the first one to tell us that a girl is fat? Who's gonna come over and turn off the oven timer FOR NO GOOD REASON WHEN SOMETHING IS BAKING? And who's gonna babble incessantly about the multi-faceted glories of Tom Brady? No one, I tell you. No one.

And so it was with a heavy heart that The VC said its goodbyes to IndianJones last night. Burgers, kir royales, and macaroons were had (followed by awkward hugging — IndianJones doesn't like personal contact). However, just because IndianJones is gone doesn't mean he's forgotten. In honor of his two influential years here in Los Angeles, I've gone back through my archives and dug out the best IndianJones photos I could find (and let me tell you, compared to my iPhoto library, these are just the tip of the iceberg).

Enjoy, if you would, this tribute to the man, the myth, the Masshole.

Today I flew from Los Angeles to New York, and I had the supreme displeasure of being seated directly behind the world's worst toddler. I knew this kid was bad news way back at Burbank airport when he came running up to me and HID behind my luggage. I don't like when unruly children with snot dripping from their nose enter my personal area, let alone when they touch my baggage. This was highly upsetting to me. After about twenty seconds, this devil child's dad (who had body odor, I'd like to add) took him by the hand and led him away WITHOUT EVEN APOLOGIZING TO ME. Imagine my dismay when I discovered I'd be sitting directly behind these awful, awful people on the airplane.

The good news was that the first forty-five minutes of the flight were sublimely quiet and peaceful as Baby was asleep. But then he woke up, and it was hell from that point on. This kid cried and cried and cried and cried. And when he wasn't crying, he was yelling. And when he wasn't yelling, he was crying again. The two passengers next to me (both gentlemen of a certain age) made silly faces and googly eyes every time the toddler stuck his dirty face above the seat. I, however, leveled the angriest glare I could summon, hoping that it would somehow scare the boy into silence. It worked once — allowing me ten seconds of relief before the caterwauling started up again. Mostly, however, my icy eyes were met with a giggle of all things, which was in turn followed by more crying. It was horrendous.

Now, I've gotten some flack from some readers about how cruel and unsympathetic I am to children, and I'd like to add that I do like a few kids — mainly the ones related to me because THEY have been raised by good parents and therefore are well behaved (props to my brother and sis-in-law). But let me add that this rant comes not from being a hater. No, this rant comes because this child was seriously awful. I can say this because there were other toddlers on the plane who were perfectly benign and lovely. One woman walked her boy up and down the aisle about ten times, but it was fine because he made not a peep. The toddler in front of me, however, was all screaming all the time. You'd think the parents would get the bright idea to similarly walk their kid around the plane to mollify his restlessness, but no, they did no such thing. In fact, they didn't even take him to the bathroom once the ENTIRE TIME. Poor kid — he probably had shat his pants somewhere over western Colorado and was just begging for new diapers. Either way, whether the child was terrible or merely the parents, I can say that I was most miserable. In fact, the noises became so loud and horrific that I simply had to record them with my webcam. Hence the video above. Check it out to sample ninety seconds of my pain. I defy you to make it to the end of the clip...

In case you missed it, Perez Hilton got punched gloriously in the face by America's new hero, Polo Molina, who serves not only as the Joseph Welch of our generation, but also as manager to will.i.am of the Black Eyed Peas. Go figure. Anyway, Perez not only clogged up Toronto's emergency response staff by mobilizing his one million strong Twitter army to call the police on his behalf, but he then released a teary, overly indulgent video in which he described the donnybrook, and here is where the controversy has raged. You see, when will.i.am was allegedly gettin' all up in Perez's toothy grill, the cornered gossip blogger feared for his safety; so he did the best possible thing: he called will.i.am a "fucking faggot." (I didn't censor the word because honestly, there's no reason to soften the awfulness of Perez's actions.) Well, this understandably led to punches being thrown by Polo, and now, two days later, GLAAD has piped up on the side (more or less) of the Black Eyed Peas.

As reported yesterday, GLAAD has officially condemned Perez Hilton's use of the F-word, noting that even though there was not necessarily hate behind its usage, the attack still reiterated the notion that such words might just be okay to use in trying to get a rise out of someone. Surely Perez would apologize, yes? Not so much. In a statement to TMZ, he once again played the woe-is-me card, saying, "I am saddened GLAAD chose to victimize me further by criticizing me for how I non-violently dealt with a very scary situation that, unfortunately, turned violent." Oversimplification, to say the least.

Perez then continued, "While I doubt I will get an apology from GLAAD, nor do I expect one, I would just hope people know how difficult it is to intellectualize a situation and think rationally when a thug disguised as a musician is screaming at your face and intimidating you." So yes, reading between the lines, he's acting as if he deserves the apology, even if he doesn't necessarily expect one.

But wait, there's more.

Oh what a glorious morning. I woke up not knowing what I'd be writing about (sorry, my trip to the Big Brother house on Friday must stay under wraps for another week), but then I checked my email. My friend jash had alerted me that will.i.am from The Black Eyed Peas and Perez Hilton from, well, The Internet had gotten into some sort of kerfuffle. Normally, I wouldn't care about such a dumb celebrity feud, but when I learned that it had culminated with Perez Hilton getting (finally) socked in the face, I was most intrigued.

Turns out that the altercation took place in peaceful Canada at the MuchMusic Awards where allegedly there were some words between Perez and Fergie, which turned into words between Perez and Will, which turned into words between Perez and some guy's fist. I don't really know who's right or wrong in the situation, but it's safe to say that this moment was long overdue. Perez couldn't truly think he could last five years as the country's most obnoxious gossip monger before getting decked in his oddly shaped face. I'm not condoning violence, but seriously, he had to know it would happen someday. And he had to know we would then all laugh.

Nevertheless, both feuding parties immediately fled to the Internet where they've described their respective sides of the story in an effort to sway the court of public opinion. Will.i.am's video is short, to-the-point, and free of ridiculous histrionics that might undermine his credibility. Perez's video on the other hand, well, it's a bit much. Details after the jump...

Chris Brown, perhaps the inspiration for "Boom Boom Pow," has resurfaced with two very important messages — in YouTube form, natch. Above, the singer clarifies any confusion about his reputation, noting that he is not, in fact, a monster. This is independently verified by Bow Wow, who has long stood as the preeminent character witness of the hip-hop, nay, artistic community.

After the jump, Chris's second video, which, I tell you, certainly puts ME to shame.

Via D-Listed

Well, I just exercised my constitutional rights. And it was glorious.

Actually, it wasn't. I stood in line for an hour, which was fine and expected. The only problem was that the woman behind me would not. stop. talking. I'm telling you, she chatted incessantly, oversharing her entire life to virtual strangers. Thankfully, she wasn't talking to me, but still, what could have been a pleasant, meditative hour of people watching instead turned into one of the longest sixty minutes of my life. It got me thinking: what will I be happiest about most once I've cast my vote? Well, now I have a list, and I hope you'll relate.

The top 5 — plus more on that woman — after the jump...

This just in from one of my East Coast correspondents: a succinct yet powerful license plate found on I-84 West, just outside of Hartford, CT. Nothing more really needs to be said; although, I am a bit sad that there was no visual confirmation of Spencer Pratt behind the wheel. Heyyyyoooooh!!!

So apparently I may have just started a feud with supermodel Alessandra Ambrosio. Turns out she's the owner of that green dog I posted about earlier.

I still contend that Buddha is one of the stupidest-looking dogs I've ever seen in my life, even if he is/was owned by a supermodel. And let's get one thing straight: he's certainly no ANDREW. However, if Alessandra promises to make sure Buddha is never subject to such ridiculous hues again, I'm willing to forgive and forget.

And again, since I'm not a total bastard, if you find this Shamrock Shake of a dog, call 310 396-4400 or 877-PET-TOTO.

I just received an urgent, automated call here at home. Apparently one of my neighbors has a missing dog, and even worse, the owner suspects that he's been stolen! That's right, the inappropriately named Buddha has been plucked out of West Hollywood, disappearing into the ether like a fleeting, spectral vision. I have to admit that this is the first time I've ever received an automated call about a missing pet, and being ever curious, I went onto the website findtoto.com where I was told I could find more information. Of course, a part of me feared this might just be some lame (yet effective) marketing strategy for Beverly Hills Chihuahua, but no, the website was legit. I looked up the missing pooch, and lo and behold, there was Buddha — looking pretty much as dumb as a dog can be made to look.

Buddha's picture after the jump.

Sure this video may be eight months old, but hey, I just found it courtesy of Best Week Ever, and man, am I glad that I did. Now I feel about ten times better about my life.

All together now: nn-ts, nn-ts, nn-ts...

(that's me pretending to be the awful music coming out of the car stereo)

Feeling desperate? Suffer from blindness? Deafness? Lacking any senses in particular? Well, if you have a few extra bucks, this might be just what you need to spice up your life: a date with American Idol's Constantine Maroulis, the living incarnation of baklava (and just as sticky!). It's an opportunity too wonderful/smarmy to pass up! Just imagine yourself at dinner, staring into those beady little eyes of his, two dreamy bags puffing out underneath like magnificent pillows of gorgeousness. He runs his hand through his greasy, unwashed hair and then caresses your face, leaving an oily smear of grandeur along your cheek. While you reach for your napkin, you notice his shirt is unbuttoned to the navel, revealing a hirsute series of flab rolls piled atop each other like a werewolf version of the Michelin Man. It's damn near impossible to look away from this hairy ode to jiggles, but then there's that smile. That beautiful, mousy smile. Who needs an upper lip when you've got a chin that resembles a perfectly sculpted anus? He has the total package.

And all you have to do is pay over $2,000 for the experience. Yes, this dream date is being auctioned off as part of the charity fundraiser (emphasis on charity), Rock Against Diabetes. The winner will get to accompany Constantine to the event, which will be hosted by -- you guessed it -- Dick Donato (a.k.a. Evel Dick of Big Brother 8). Constantine and Dick on the same date? And you out $2,000? Sounds like the best night ever!

If for some reason this sounds appetizing to you, then a) you may be suffering from a brain tumor, and b) feel free to get more information here. My suggestion: donate to the cause, forgo the douchebag has-beens.

• Date with Constantine Maroulis currently being auctioned for $2,000 [Reality Blurred]

Living in West Hollywood, my neighborhood is routinely patrolled by parking enforcement officers, who quietly stalk their prey from the comfort of their white, eco-friendly Priuses — waiting for that orgasmic moment when they can slap a ticket down on a permit-lacking vehicle and tow it away. Their Orwellian presence rivals a godlike power to be everywhere and nowhere all at once, and should you find yourself on the wrong side of their unflinching Maglites, you'll soon be treated to a stiff fine and a towing charge. It's because of this that residents and visitors alike tend to view parking enforcement with a measure of disdain. Like an army of money-eating pests, they never go away, and sooner or later, they get you.

Occasionally though, my friends and I find ourselves siding with parking enforcement. While I'd like to think that no one deserves the hassle of being towed away, truth is that it's also perversely glorious watching the bridge-and-tunnel folk descend on the nearby Sunset Strip and try to park in front of our apartment building, arrogantly thinking they can park their dumb car just ANYWHERE without checking the signs first. Trust me when I say it never gets old watching these people's stunned reactions upon return to the empty spot that used to hold their car. Just this past weekend, my friends and I enjoyed the sight (from our balcony) of one shirtless, long-haired, drunken fool stumbling up and down the street, bemoaning the sad fate that had befallen his now-missing car. "Duuuuude, I got towed!!!" he lamented to no one in particular, his long frizzy hair flowing in all directions like Troy Polamalu after a roller coaster ride. This continued for a few minutes until his buddy picked him up and ferreted him off to who knows where — hopefully Supercuts. This cruel turn of events was nothing short of hilarious for us as we watched yet another douchebag fall victim to The System. Of course, he was probably too drunk to drive anyway; so the towing was good in many ways.

Still, watching one idiot get his just desserts is never enough. We always want more; so imagine our thrill when moments after the drunken troll doll departed, two new teenage douchebags pulled up and parked their red mustang without even checking the parking rules. Surely parking enforcement would have their way with them...

Go around.

Okay, this just happened outside my window, and thankfully, my camera was nearby; so I could document all the idiocy on display. I was up here in my room, typing away on my next Hills recap when suddenly, I heard the blaring sound of a car horn. Now, I don't mind car horns per se, but this guy was pressing onto the horn for a good five or six seconds. Being the ever curious (read: nosy) neighbor that I am, I immediately pressed my face up against my window to see what was going on.

Well, this driver was apparently honking at a garbage truck. As you can see in the picture, the truck was just doing its thing, parked with its hazards on while the sanitation workers scurried into the adjacent building to pull out its dumpster. No one likes being stuck behind a garbage truck — I get that — but was honking necessary? These guys were just doing their job, and even more importantly, THERE WAS PLENTY OF SPACE TO GO AROUND THE TRUCK. There was not a single other car in the area, and as you can see from the picture, the truck was hardly blocking the entire road. But rather than do the obvious and easy thing, this driver instead decided to lay on the horn AGAIN. Seriously? Seriously?

I really wanted to yell, "Just go around!!" but I knew that would be stupid, and the guy would never hear me. So instead, I whipped out my camera, just in time for the guy to honk yet again. That's right, he let out three or four angry, multi-second honks before finally succumbing to, you know, LOGIC and driving around. So for wasting his own time and blaming others for it, I label this dumb Lexus driver the Idiot Angeleno of the day.

Oh The Real World. The once proud reality series has stumbled in recent seasons (I stopped watching midway through Denver), but despite flagging quality, the show is gearing up for its twentieth season (!!). To celebrate this impressive feat, MTV threw a special awards show for The Real World, and honestly, what better way to fete scads of self-involved, narcissistic, ridiculous people than with a concept that is at its core self-involved, narcissistic, and ridiculous?

We've yet to find out who won what (Best Drunkard, Biggest Idiot, Favorite Tantrum, Most Outrageous Self-Rationalization?), but my friend Laura hit the red carpet, and when she wasn't doling out little passive-aggressive gems ("This is one of the seasons I did watch"), she was finding out tidbits from some of our kind of favorite stars from yore.

Quick observations:

• Eric Nies looks way old/stoned. Sort of sad.
• Stephen from Seattle got fat but is dressed well (those gays!).
• Melissa from Miami is still boring as hell.
• Ruthie may have shrunken.
• Teck would fail miserably on American Inventor. And he's too small for his neck collar, but that's neither here nor there.
• Beth is hilarious, but we all knew that.

Some photos from the red carpet after the jump, and to see the footage, click here (via Reality Blurred).

It's been a while since I've written up one of my gym horror stories, but sadly, I think that's more a sign of my lackadaisical workout routine than it is of improved hygienic awareness. People are still disgusting, and never was that more evident than today when I headed to the gym and encountered a lapse of cleanliness so foul that I had no recourse but to actually talk to a staff member. And people who know me know that I'm not one of those people. I'll complain and roll my eyes, but I rarely go running to the authorities. This time, however, I had to do what was right: narc. It was either that or barf.

I'm so fired up with political activism right now I'm surprised there's no annoying Facebook group dedicated to me. Last night, I attended my very first Planning Commission meeting here in West Hollywood, and while I knew I'd encounter several stodgy old people and myopic idiots, I didn't realize the degree to which they'd a) annoy me, b) get me riled up, and c) use poor logic to defend their statements.

The issue at hand was whether or not The Standard Hotel could extend its pool-side bar service hours. I won't bore you with the details, but the proposed resolution would ultimately allow the hotel to serve until 1:30 AM on the weekends. I, of course, was totally for this move for a variety of reasons, the most self-serving being that I would love to enjoy my nights at The Standard without being herded away from the pool at the stroke of 11:30 PM . More importantly, however, keeping The Standard open until closing time would keep it and The Sunset Strip competitive with other nightlife options — most of which are fleeing to Hollywood. And after seeing this planning board, I understand the exodus.

My entire experience at the meeting after the jump. Be warned, I will be ranting.

(Dramatization)

Another day, another gross story from the gym. Thankfully, this tale details significantly fewer threats to my personal health and hygiene as my last gym horror story, but I still find it quite appalling. I guess by now it's probably not hard to imagine what's so offensive this time around, what with my headline spilling the beans rather obviously. Still, I'm never one to turn away from telling a compelling yarn, especially when it highlights a breach of etiquette, hygiene, or some ungodly mixture of both...

So, I hate this car that's parked in my garage. I could go on a rant about it, but what's the point when pictures are so much more effective?

Full disclosure after the jump...

I don't want to be overly cynical or anything, but I'm truly amazed at how dumb people can be sometimes.  Yes, I know that sounds harsh and particularly "angry blogger"-ish, but it's true.  I mean, we all do dumb things —  it's normal — but the other day at the gym, I witnessed one of the most idiotic, or rather, baffling displays I've seen in quite some time.